


Old Love

by cafulur



Category: Be More Chill - Iconis/Tracz
Genre: Alternate Universe - College/University, Eventual Romance, M/M, Mutual Pining, Poetry
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-04-23
Updated: 2018-05-27
Packaged: 2019-04-26 21:28:49
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 1,100
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14410923
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cafulur/pseuds/cafulur
Summary: A series of three (3) poems from the perspective of Michael Mell.Michael and Jeremy part ways after senior year and fall out of touch. Almost two years later, Michael receives a letter from his old friend and goes straight to the address it sent from on a dangerous whim.An epilogue will follow the end of this series.





	1. trekking.

**Author's Note:**

> hey guys !!! i'm taking a poetry course this semester, so i have been stretching my creative boundaries of writing and decided to extend it to here! i have yet to write a poem from the perspective of another person, and i figured this could be a fun experiment. i hope you guys enjoy this slightly unconventional form of storytelling on here ! ♡

i trek foreign grounds along foreign routes  
the letter told me this is where you’d be   
  
and i wonder why i’m here,  
waiting with every single lost-in-time word conveniently stuck **right** in my throat   
  
you have to be here. that’s why _i’m_ here.   
  
is this really where you’ve been thriving?  
i’ll admit, those chrysanthemums are certainly your color   
  
_no,_ you’d think it’s the color of a jaded blonde teenager who was too afraid of her terrible insecurities to stand up for herself   
  
but it’s also the color that looks very pretty in your hair,  
laying in yellow fields and rolling in feels  
and if i could’ve just _known_ it was real

i can say confidently that your brunet strands are soft, curly, and well kept  
no one loves showers and baths like you do, you weird merman.   
  
so is this really where you’ve thrived?   
498 entire days of your life?   
  
when we parted on that cracked, age-old concrete, you had to picture yourself.   
you had to picture yourself standing amongst chrysanthemums and skyscrapers without me and think “i could do that.”   
  
i didn’t think I could do it. Almost two years later and I still don’t know how I’ve done it.   
  
it was good though. i grew, you probably grew.   
i wouldn’t know, you never got tied into social media. just tied into escaping.   
  
i’m still gripping your letter while i desperately try to navigate this growingly familiar terrain. i’m trying to find you in every single brick, every single sorority girl’s bake sale sign, and i think i’m drawing up the right answers   
but i’m also drawing blanks   
  
and then there you are,

and wouldn’t you know,

you’ve become a tabula rasa.   


  
i know your slate,  
what’s underneath oxford shoes in place of converse and expensive button downs in place of- _jesus christ_ are those prominent veins on your _arms?_  
  
... you work out?   
  
Do i even tap your shoulder, do i even _dare_ to begin to know what is probably something vaguely resembling the man i fell in love with,   
the man i’ll always never be able to get over.   
  
but i call, and you turn   
  
and fireworks and flames consume our world’s whole, do you think we’re clashing?   
  
no, those are the sounds of BOOMing and FALLing fast, fast, fast, _all over again_   
  
your familiar, beyond familiar, blues holding clear skies light up and that same dorky smile i saw clouded in smoke in the basement all those years ago

  
it’s here   
  
and it’s for me   
  
and Jesus Christ, can’t I just love you for a little bit longer? 


	2. climbing.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Second poem out of three (3).
> 
> Michael is skeptical of his reunion with his old best friend after all the time that has passed and the distance that has separated them. However, he's learning that sometimes change can be a good thing.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm honestly not super pleased with this, it's a bit of a mess but I've rewritten chunks of it way too many times and read it over more than my brain would like over the past week, so I've decided I should just go ahead and post it before I scrap it entirely. I /think/ I'm happy with the final outcome? I hope you guys at least enjoy it!

climbing up stony steps in an unfamiliar, hilly environment,

not a single clue where you’ve taken me.

i try not focus on your sun-bright, warm smile,

and instead on your calming eyes.

 

it’s difficult, i want to be at least a _little_ perturbed.

 

but we both _agreed_ to part on that age-old concrete. This was just as much you as it was me, and so this was all that we could be.

 

but then the look of hope when we arrive,

the look that floods your capsulated oceans

Now _that_ just turns my attention and captivates my entire e v e r y t h i n g

 

i step aside to let you through the glass doors first,

and i almost wipe my heart along with my shoes at the door.

but just as i stay behind, head down, needing to

 

collect and calibrate,

 

your long, slender fingers are wrapping around my wrist,

you’ve stopped right in front of me, and the suddenness has made me  b u m p !  right into you,

i’m opening my mouth for an apology, for a question, for a—

 

‘can i show you something _really_ cool?’

 

your eyes keep lighting up, and man, you _can’t_ keep this up

 

‘yeah, dude,’ i breathe

 

because what else can i say to the face i called _home_ at one point or another

 

and it occurs to me then, so suddenly, that it’s very strange

 

you look like home, i think.

i mean, how could you not? no period of time

could break that camaraderie

it’s definitely a _given_

 

but this time around, as you pull me down a secret path of stairs,  
my mind flashes to the steps of the basement mom now uses as a craftroom

the steps i pulled you down some days, you pulled others,

and at the bottom,

all the times i nearly pressed my red ice lips against chapped ones

 

(maybe this’ll be nice)

 

at the bottom, we didn’t find my mother painting on a 16x20 canvas

and there were no more amateur, adolescent kisses to share

yet _something_ achingly familiar still filled the air

 

  1. there lies a place, where beneath a coffee shop,
  2. bright neon lights, flashing pixelated figures, translucent marquees, and dirty coins wearing engraved faces which look eerily like daniel radcliffe liter the floor
  3. you purchase some more filthy daniels at the greasy, speckled counter
  4. i’m left staring at a rumbling, fumbling machine i haven’t faced since senior year



 

well, would you imagine that.

 

you & i,

craving the high,

willingly let nostalgia

sweep us away

 

we _play_ ! and _play_ ! and _play_ !

 

and shit, you really _have_ worked out.

look at how you’re flexing

while you tightly grip joysticks

and somehow kick my ass

 

(you always _were_ better at traditional, huh?)

 

it’s not a ripped kind of fit either,

it’s that “i’ll make an effort to stay in shape” fit

and i’ve never seen you want to make that effort before

 

you’re glowing,

 

not just in the LCD lights glaring through glass

 

but just as a person,

 

you’ve grown and you’re _glowing_

 

“    K .    O    “ flashes the screen, and it’s a brutal reflection of my insides

 

in the best way possible. you’ve grown and it’s beautiful.

  
  


_and yet..._

 

not a lot has changed:

you still snort

you still sweat a bit more than i do

you still _hate_ bad puns

you still _love_ to ride the high with me when we reign victorious and _dance_ ,

the wide audience of that glowing screen and the blitzed-out-his-gourd cashier bearing witness

 

and maybe, if i listen just close enough,

close enough to the clacking plastic button smashes

close enough to the subtle but lingering finger brushes

far enough from the heart, the _fiend,_ that is just waiting to smash through my chest and land beside a joystick atop buttons, like the traitor it is

 

i’d find that somewhere between all these euphonious signals, is an _‘i missed you.’_

 

and man, if it’s there, if its _truly_ there,

 

i really missed you, too.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much for taking the time to read my work! Feel free to let me know what you think if you feel so inclined, and there's only one more poem left before the series is finished! Then the epilogue :D

**Author's Note:**

> hope y'all stick around! thanks for clicking on this and giving it a read ♡ feel free to leave a comment or kudos if you feel so inclined, and i'll be back with more of this series soon!


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